


Bringing Words to a Gunfight

by lantia4ever



Series: Of Overqualified Hands & Pi Figures (IronStrange) [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Flirting, Hurt Stephen Strange, M/M, Party Gone Wrong, Pre-Doctor Strange (2016), Protective Bruce Banner, Protective Tony Stark, Science Bros, Stephen meets Bruce, Tony Stark Has A Heart, it was too strong to fight, shameless use of a Magnus quote
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 09:18:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14766839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lantia4ever/pseuds/lantia4ever
Summary: Stephen attends an annual science party event, intending to mingle with his colleagues and make them go all shades of blue with jealousy of his achievements. That is until he decides to run his mouth at the wrong time and finds himself face to face with a loaded gun.Thankfully, one of the partygoers might as well have a degree in running his mouth at all the wrong times and never passes up an opportunity to compete.





	Bringing Words to a Gunfight

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! ^^ 
> 
> Still enjoying my luxury cruise on the IronStrange ship so here's the continuation of the series! <3 
> 
> Reading the first part is fully recommended as there's some context you will otherwise miss ;) 
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think ^^ 
> 
> ~Lantia

“Ah! Doctor Strange! I wondered if you’d make an appearance,” somebody approaches him the second he enters the hall.

Stephen remembers the man from a medical conference last year. He was presenting a paper on alternative medicine. What a lunatic.

“Allen Pascal, we met at - ”

“Yes, of course,” he gives him his well-practiced courtesy smile, shakes his hand and before the man can start sputtering any nonsense, he bolts further into the room, melting into the crowd.

It’s the biggest event of the year. Anyone who means anything in all sorts of scientific fields is here today and Stephen fully intends to mingle…with all the right people.

Definitely not Pascal.

He grabs champagne from the bar and looks around, exchanging court nods and small talks with people he recognizes – and some that he doesn’t, but who recognize him.

“Doctor Strange? Is that your real name?” a woman comes up to him, clearly having no idea _who he is_. At least she can read the nametag.

It’s inevitable that he gets targeted by all sorts of desperate housewives around here, especially since he once again refused to bring a plus one. Maybe he should ask Christine next time. He wouldn’t want to give her any false hopes though and something tells him that she wouldn’t appreciate being asked out just to be his social defense shield.

“No, that’s my superhero name,” he retorts mockingly and brushes past the now clearly offended blonde.

He needs more champagne.

The bar is a good vantage point, overlooking the giant ballroom so he hangs by it for a moment, observing. There’s at least three hundred people here…that’s two hundred and ninety-nine too many people, degrees and egos crammed into a space this small. The only purpose these events serve is to boast about oneself to unsuspecting colleagues. New procedures, new inventions, new publications…it’s a battle of achievements. And Stephen loves it.

 _Let the best overachiever win_.

“Oh…Doctor Strange? As in the neurosurgeon?”

And score. Another person he’s never met but who knows him anyway. “In the flesh.”

The other man smiles politely, seeming to be a bit out of place here. Acting all shy, nervous…that tux looks top notch, specially tailored, just clearly not for him. _Borrowed_. “I read your paper on restorative neurosurgery. Your work in that field is…unparalleled,” he frowns a little at his own words. “I’m Doctor Banner, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” he smiles again and extends a hand to him, uncertain.

Hm. Looks like his inability to recognize members of the Avengers extends beyond Tony Stark.

Speaking of Stark, he expected the man to be here as well. Even kind of _hoped_ he would…not that he’d ever admit it to anyone. He doesn’t need to search through the gathering to see if he’s here – if he were, he’d already be the center of attention. The man has more degrees than some of the people here combined and this event sounds exactly like something he would enjoy. Alas, he isn’t here.

Shame.

“Thank you, it’s a work in progress,” he shakes his hand, surprised by the firm grip that one wouldn’t expect from the shy doctor. Then again, this _is_ the Hulk. “You have interest in neuroscience?”

“Not really…I just read a lot,” he chuckles. “And brains are a fascinating subject. So much ground that hasn’t been discovered yet, so much potential…quite fascinating.”

“I suppose so is biochemistry? And what else…nuclear physics?” Stephen doesn’t mean for it to come out so sarcastic, but since when had he been able to stop himself.

If it offends Banner, he doesn’t let it show. On the contrary, he nods and sighs. “Yeah, I know…you wouldn’t be the first one to say my field of expertise is a little…boring? Explored? But I enjoy it…just as much as you must enjoy _your_ work.”

This is most definitely not Banner’s scene. He’s too polite to mingle with ego-boasting assholes like himself. What’s he doing here?! “Yes, of course. Well, thank you for the chat, Doctor Banner. Nice to meet you,” he excuses himself before some of the man’s proper behavior and positivity spreads to him.

That would be a disaster for sure.

“Likewise,” he nods and goes back to the bar, looking like a sparrow lost among vultures.

No his problem. As long as nobody makes the man angry. He might have come for the excitement of destroying competition, but he’d rather not watch his competition be literally destroyed by a raging beast.

The night finally picks up an hour later – gossip flies from left and right, silent dramas ensue and arguments brew between old rivals. Stephen for once keeps to just watching all that.

There’s not much gossip that would concern him personally and definitely no rivals. No worthy adversaries, still.

One of the arguments however catches his attention. His and everyone else’s.

“ _That’s ridiculous! You are drunk, go sleep it off_!”

“ _As if you weren’t hammered yourself! Not just now but back then! Did you go and sleep it off_?!”

Nothing ruins a good evening better than drunken disputes. Stephen approaches the quarrelling pair through the gathering crowd of observers and actually recognizes one of them.

Pascal. Not only does the man have no regard for medicine, but also no regard for party etiquette. How rude.

“Excuse me? Some of us are trying to have a good time here so how about you take this…whatever this is outside, hm?” he speaks to them, glaring at the other guy. He’s never met him before. Why would he bother to meet a man whose suit is falling apart in three different places, has obviously drunk half of the bar already and looks more like a strip bar bouncer than a man of science.

Pascal at least looks a little ashamed. “This…is nothing. It’s over, actually! I have nothing else to say to you!” he spats and is about to turn around and walk away when he’s suddenly met with the barrel of a very real gun pointed straight at him.

Multiple gasps echo throughout the room before it goes silent, all attention drawn to the crazy guy with a damn gun few feet away from Stephen. What’s the security doing, picking their noses?!

“Nothing?! This is everything! That’s what I used to have! Everything! And then you took it away!” the man bursts out, waving the gun haphazardly in Pascal’s face.

Perfect…some insane, disgruntled patient. Exactly what this party lacked – more crazy. As if useless wannabe _Doctor_ Pascal wasn’t enough. Stephen can’t even be surprised he drew at least one patient to a point where he brought up a gun against him.

No need for the entire evening to get ruined though, right?

“Look,” he takes a step forward with hands slightly raised, regretting it almost immediately when the gun is pointed at him straight away. “Whatever Doctor Pascal did…and I’m sure he fucked up big time, you’re not going to solve it this way,” he waves between the gun and Pascal. This was a really bad idea. Couldn’t he just shut the fuck up and pretend to be invisible like the rest of the onlookers? Nope. Of course not. “So why don’t you just put away the gun and - ”

He’s been punched in the face a couple times before…he enjoyed picking up fights at high-school even. That way, he always saw the punch coming. Always knew what he was in for.

This time around, as the rough fist connects with his cheek, he’s not expecting it.

 _Really, really bad idea_.

“I’m not talking to _you_!” the man screams as Stephen goes down, sprawling on the floor like a bag of potatoes. “What do _you_ even know?!” he towers over him, stomping on his forearm when he attempts to push himself up again. “He told me he would save her!” he continues the rant, gun flying in Pascal’s direction again. “That she’d be fine! That it’s _nothing_. _NOTHING_! ROUTINE!”

Stephen grits his teeth, glaring at the offending limb pressing down on his hand. Punching him in the face is one thing. But coming down on his _hand_ like a damn tank trying to crush it, is unacceptable. His hands are _his_ everything. He is who he is because of his hands. So if that asshole so much as cracks a bone, he might as well shoot him now. A bullet to the head would be a damn mercy if –

“HE KILLED HER! There’s nothing to solve, don’t you get it?!” the man shouts at him, his feet never leaving his arm. “Nobody can bring her back now, NOBODY! Not even you…some…fancy Doctor, you. You’re all the same. You don’t care about anyone…just yourselves,” he spits at him, the gun returning to his line of sight.

This is it then…all just because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut…

“Excuse me, Mr. Gunman?” another voice rings through the tense silence, calm and full of authority, stealing the man’s attention. Stephen _knows_ that voice. “That’s _my_ Doctor you’re stepping on there, would you mind?”

The guy is now fully focused on the newcomer, so Stephen chances moving his head up a little, despite the gun still in place to possibly shoot him at any time, to see for himself.

Staring right at the aggressor with his usual press-worthy smirk is Tony Stark in all his perfection - dressed to the nines in a well-fitting black tux, hair styled, goatee trimmed…ready to pop up on a dozen front pages by tomorrow.

If he’s at all disturbed by the armed party-crasher, he’s not letting on at all. Facing dangers may be Iron Man’s daily bread as much as brain surgeries are Stephen’s…but that there is just Tony Stark, his invincible suit of armor nowhere to be seen and yet he’s acting like he’s wearing it anyway.

When the man doesn’t say anything – likely stunned by the presence of Iron Man himself – Stark takes another step closer to them, hands in his pockets. “What’s your name?”

“B-Brandon,” he stutters out, watching Stark’s every move.

“Listen to me, Brandon,” he pulls his hands out and gestures between them. “You see that lovely fella over there?” he points to somewhere behind Stephen. “Shy smile, glasses, wouldn’t hurt a fly?”

Brandon takes a look, his eyes focusing on the described man out of Stephen’s view.

“That’s my buddy Bruce,” Stark continues, chancing another step closer and this time, Brandon reacts – the gun flying in his direction. Stark doesn’t even blink though. “You see, Bruce is a nice guy. Not the usual ‘everyone says he’s nice but really he’s just an asshole’ kinda guy, nope. He’s the real deal. I mean, he somehow puts up with _me_ all the time, so he’s got to be nice. Great guy to have around…smart, funny, understanding. A good friend,” he winks, presumably at Banner. “There’s just this one thing...when he gets angry, he turns into a big green guy that likes smashing things and people that made him angry. Remember that big flying alien thing you saw on TV? That thing made him angry. And it ended up smashed into the concrete.”

Brandon keeps glancing between Stark, Pascal and Banner, his shaky hand still aiming a gun at the genius engineer.

“And usually, Bruce is real calm…antsy, but calm. Right now though, there’s this guy waving a gun at his science bro, standing on his new friend’s _surgeon hand_ and causing a scene at this supposedly cool party. So you see how that might quickly become a problem in terms of _staying calm_ ,” he says, his so far cheeky tone turning ice cold.

Brandon takes a look behind him again, the fact that he’s facing both Iron Man and Hulk finally seeming to get through to him because he deflates some.

“Here’s what’s gonna happen, Brandon. You keep doing what you’re doing and one way or the other, you are going to end up smashed against this exquisite marble floor and if you were having a shit night until this point, then it’s only going to get shittier from there, I will _personally_ make sure that it will,” he threatens, clear and intimidating, slowly approaching them until he’s just inches away from the wavering gun. “On the other hand,” he takes a quick breath and his voice is suddenly back to his upbeat, melodic frequency. “If you give me the gun, step off the Doctor and calm down enough to start forming full sentences, you and I can have a talk. Solve this situation of yours somehow.”

Stephen watches as Brandon takes a few more shuddering, loud breaths before lowering the gun and finally removing his feet from his aching hand.

“There’s no way to solve this,” he whispers, voice broken. “Nobody can solve it. Nobody can bring her back…not even you,” he adds, all fight gone from his body.

Having kept the gun, Stephen suspects what’s on his mind right now. A man with nothing to lose in reality still has _one_ more thing to lose.

Whether Stark realizes that or not, before Brandon can make his move he’s standing in front of him, his intense look aimed straight into his eyes. “No. I’ve worked some miracles in my life but you’re right. I can’t bring her back. Wife?” he asks, so softly Stephen starts doubting this is still _the_ Tony Stark.

Brandon shakes his head, a painful grimace in place. “Daughter. M…my wife passed years ago…sh-e…she was the only one left…only one le - ” his voice cracks with a sob.

Stark nods, glancing at Pascal. “And I’m guessing he’s got something to do with that?”

“He was…treating her illness. He said…he said she’d be fine. That it’s nothin’…and then she was gone,” he breaks down at the end, tears flooding down his cheeks. “Sum…alternative…bullshit…he…killed her…,” he blurts through the sobs.

Stark settles both his hands on the man’s arms in a steadying grip and searches his eyes. “I’m sorry. Losing someone you love? That always sucks. You want to blame someone, make sense of it, make them pay for it…it never works. It never makes you feel better…even makes you feel worse actually. Because nothing you do can change what happened,” he talks to him, just loud enough for the four of them to hear.

“It’s just…not fair. She…she died and it’s like nobody cares!” he cries desperately. “World keeps on goin’ like nothing happened…and this guy keeps on playin’ doctor every day like he’s done nothin’. What about the next patient he kills?! Ain’t nobody gonna do anything about that either?!”

“Look, honestly? If he did something wrong then why not let a proper judge decide? You don’t have to come at him guns blazing, take him to Court. And if he is to blame for what happened, they will make sure he won’t be able to do anything like that ever again.”

“He’s a fancy-ass doctor! I’m a security guard at Walmart! Even if I could afford a lawyer, this guy would just hire twenty of ‘em to shove mine down their pockets!”

“Well,” Stark gives him a small smile, letting go of him to search for something in his breast pockets. “It’s a good thing then that the Maria Stark Foundation has a legal team full of lawyers that _love_ doing pro bono cases. I’m not kidding, they really do and they’re really good at it. Here…you got a pen?” he turns to Pascal. “Fancy doctors always have a pen, right?”

Pascal, stuck in an onset of actual shock for the past five minutes hands Stark a shiny pen from his own pocket, hands shaking with nervous tremors.

Stark takes it and writes something on a back of a card. “This is a number for one of those zealous attorneys. Remember how I flipped off the Senate once on live TV? They pressed charges for…I dunno, public embarrassment? Whatever, it was ridiculous. And this fearsome lady made sure the Court would see it for exactly what it was. If she’s not afraid to shit on the Senate, she’s not gonna be afraid of a fancy doctor and his army of twenty lawyers.”

Brandon takes the card, inspecting it back to back.

“That’s my SI number on the other side…please don’t call me, I never pick up anyway,” he adds, a flare of nonchalance seeping back into his features. “Call the number, tell her I gave it to you, explain everything and let her help you. If he’s to blame for what happened to your daughter? She’ll take the fucker down, you got my word. It’s not gonna feel like a victory, it won’t lessen your pain or anything…but it’ll be something.”

He nods, actually handing over the gun to Stark. “Okay,” he says, quiet but no longer so defeated.

“Okay,” Stark echoes, taking the gun and clicking the safety on in one swift motion. “He’s all yours,” he talks to someone over his shoulder and a couple security men approach to take Brandon away.

Brandon regards Stark with a grateful expression and lets the security escort him out of the room and away from the partygoers.

“Someone give this guy a shock blanket or something,” Stark waves at Pascal, looking around the still awfully silent hall.

Stephen lets out a breath he’s been holding and tries to gather himself back up on his feet but staggers, unable to get his limbs to cooperate.

A pair of hands appears under his arms from behind, helping him gain balance. “I’ve got you,” Doctor Banner mumbles, hauling Stephen off the ground with little problems, immediately steering him out of the circle of onlookers towards one of the tables at the back of the room.

“Bruce! You told me there was a party here, what is this?!” he hears Stark call after them. “Someone get the music back on, come on, this party’s dead!” he commands and the silence is at last broken by the background music track coming on and the slow, escalating applause from the guests.

Stephen is sat down on a chair, gentle fingers prodding at his injured hand. He looks up to see Banner’s focused expression – one he himself often wears when met with a medical mystery. This is hardly one though. “I’ll uh…take a look,” he tries swatting Banner’s hands away with his free one. “I’m a doctor.”

Banner chuckles, stopping Stephen’s flailing hand. “You, me and everyone else here, Doctor Strange.”

“You’re the wrong kind of doctor.”

“Luckily, I don’t need an extra degree for this,” he smiles. “Doesn’t seem to be broken, just bruised a little. Having any troubles moving it?”  

Stephen gives up his attempts to do the diagnosing here and moves his hand around to test it. The ache is dull, centered on the space where Brandon’s feet stood on it but otherwise fine. “No…it will be okay,” he says, not sure if he’s answering Banner’s question or reassuring himself out loud.

“Good. Ice?” Stark reappears, somehow smuggling himself away from the crowd without being followed, bucket of ice in hand. “The barman looked at me funny when I didn’t want a bottle of whiskey to go with it,” he smirks and for the first time this evening, he looks down at Stephen.

“I wonder why,” Banner scoffs, taking the bucket and using his pocket handkerchief, he creates a makeshift icepack.

“What I’m wondering is why I even bothered coming here,” Stark’s observant eyes leave Stephen’s face to glance around the room.

“Uhhh, because…you wanted to come here? You persuaded me to come, too! Were you just not going to show up?” Banner squints at his supposed friend, while helping Stephen out of his jacket so he can apply the pack. “Were you ignoring all my messages?”

“Nope. I found them very entertaining.”

This time, the doctor straight up glares at Stark. “So you were entertained by my obvious suffering? That’s nice. I told you this isn’t my scene! I don’t know anyone in here! Not…personally! Nobody would even talk to me!”

“He did,” Stark nods at him, still wearing his carefree expression.

“Oh please, I came out of his left field and bothered him with small talk…he was just being polite!”

“Exactly. If he cared enough to be polite, you weren’t bothering him _too much_. If you were, he would brush you off or throw champagne in your face.”

Banner puts the icepack on his forearm, the chill soothing the pain instantly. “Not everyone is like you, Tony.”

“No, he uhm…he’s quite on point there,” Stephen chimes in, frowning at Stark. “Perhaps not the champagne throwing part…unless you’d be _really_ annoying.”  

Stark’s grin widens at that, eyes travelling back to Banner. “See? But hey! I showed up, alright? And defused a potentially dangerous situation…instead of causing one! Damn. That’s new.”

Banner just shakes his head, rolling his eyes. “Trust me. Nobody in this room is more surprised than me about that.”

“Ouch!” Stark puts a hand on his chest. “I deserved that. Anyway! You good, doc?” he turns to Stephen, who is yet unable to stop staring. “Need anything? More ice, a drink...shock blanket?”

“I’m not in shock!” he blurts out, knowing that’s a lie.

It’s not even the fact he’s just been assaulted and held at gunpoint by a grieving father. It’s all Stark and the way he handled the whole situation. For everybody in the room, this was Iron Man saving the day again, nothing new.

But this was _Tony Stark_. No armor. No powerful gadgets and weapons. Just a man in a fancy tux, armed with only his quick wit. He didn’t break through the roof guns blazing, taking the man down.

Tony Stark had brought _words_ to a gunfight and _won_. 

And that is what shocks Stephen.

“If you say so. You’re the doctor after all,” he shrugs, finding the ground interesting all of a sudden. “Okay, well…no need to thank me or anything. I also love doing pro bono cases …and I did owe you one, I guess? Anyway…I’ll do _you_ pro bono any time,” he winks at Stephen.

Definitely in shock.

“Uuhhhhhhokay?” Banner gives them a weird look. “You want us to call someone for you?”

Stephen shakes his head, rebooting his misfiring brain. “No. That won’t be necessary, Doctor Banner. I’ll hail a cab and go home.”

“You sure?” he asks again, being the _good_ person he is.  

“Yes. This has been enough excitement for the day I think,” he looks at Stark, who’s still grinning at him. “And _thank you_ , Doctor Stark,” he tries going for sarcastic, but it’s his weakest attempt ever. Maybe because in all honesty, the man deserves to be thanked. Nobody seems to thank him for anything. Blame him? Yeah. But there’s little thanks to go around for one of Earth’s mightiest superheroes. Who may or may not have just _blatantly flirted_ with Stephen. “For possibly saving my overqualified hand,” he adds with a little grin of his own.

Stark purses his lips, nodding just the slightest. “You got a pen? Oh wait, I still got this one!” he pulls out Pascal’s pen out of his pocket along with another card, scribbling down something on the back of it again.

“Oh, that’s quite alright. I don’t need any of your lawyers’ numbers,” he waves in dismissal and stands up, looking down at the still writing man.

Huh. He’s shorter than he thought. Or Christine was right and Stephen is just a giant.

He throws the pen on the table and puts the card in Stephen’s shirt pocket. “That’s _my_ number, asshole,” he rolls his eyes and picks up Stephen’s jacket, handing it to him. “The one I _do_ answer.”

For once in his life, Stephen might have just found his match. In more ways than one. As if he’d make it that easy.

“Don’t expect me to call, _douchebag_ ,” he mimics Stark’s dramatic eye roll, grabs the jacket and turns to Banner. “Thank you, Doctor Banner. It really was a pleasure to meet you,” he exchanges a quick handshake with him and with a last defiant glare at Stark, he walks away from the pair.

“Did he just call you a douchebag? I think I like him,” Stephen hears Banner say and quietly chuckles, almost missing Stark’s reply before disappearing out of earshot.

“That makes two of us.”

He stared down the barrel of a gun, nearly had his hand crushed and almost found out what the Hulk looks like up close, but it’s those five words that get stuck in his head for days.

That, and the nibbling thought of maybe utilizing the card now safely tucked in his wallet.


End file.
